The Subtlety of Good Ale
by astatina
Summary: Post-coronation. "Yes, good ale is worth everything. In fact, I am in love with good ale." Snow seeks out the huntsman's quarters to share some news. The two are forced to confront the unsaid.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim rights to "Snow White and the Huntsman".

Note: This story is in two parts. I apologize for the abrupt end of this chapter. More to come. Cheers!

_The Subtlety of Good Ale_

Snow stood outside his chamber door, her arm raised in a parodic gesture of a knock. She almost smiled at the thought of how strange she must look: a queen in the servants' quarter, hesitant, unsure of her right to be there. But that was how she felt. It had been a fortnight since the coronation and she had not once come across him. She heard rumours that he had left after the coronation, that he had been offered a job transporting prisoners from Ravenna's guard to an unspecified location. Yet at the council meeting tonight Snow had discovered that that these rumours were untrue. The huntsman was still in castle grounds. Of course, she could not blame him for his general absence – it was not as if she had been making efforts to seek him out. In fact, the truth was that she had been avoiding him, busying herself with the new tasks that came with her title.

One of these new tasks included council meetings, the second of which had been tonight. It was here that Snow was informed by the other members of the council that in a week's time the huntsman would be knighted for his fealty to the queen. The council had asked her whether she considered this a worthy honour; the final decision came down to her. She agreed without hesitation, pleased that the others had acknowledged their debt to him. Since coronation, Snow had worried that those who had fought alongside her in the war, but had no title, would slip by unrecognized or remunerated for their bravery. She was glad that Eric would get his due.

She felt stronger outside his door now remembering that her visit had a purpose. Her hand descended heavily, knocking twice. From inside, he called for her to come in. Snow pressed the latch on the door and entered the room, which was of medium size and scarcely furnished. Its appearance however was made more cheerful by a large window facing the castle grounds. She was surprised that he was not in the room and then noticed a small door in the corner, which was wedged open, leading to what was assumed to be a bath. Before Snow could announce her presence, the interior door opened and the huntsman emerged, uncovered except for his riding breeches, which were slung low on his waist. His upper body was still wet from his bath.

"Snow." Her stared at her, unmoving and yet clearly startled. "What are you doing here?"

His second question acted as a catalyst, prompting him into action. The huntsman walked over to his bed and cleared whatever items had been on top, making a space for her to sit. He then approached the chair beside the bed and from it picked up a goatskin jacket. Though he now was mostly covered, she could still see water droplets on his neck.

"Come, sit," he said, gesturing to his bed. He then pulled the chair from its place along the wall and positioned it across from the bed. He leaned towards her, his hands on his knees. His eyes however did not reach her face. Snow felt deeply aware of their proximity and wondered if he too was uncomfortable.

Before she could broach the reason for her visit, he sprung up from his seat and moved to the wooden cabinet positioned under the window. He turned to her and asked, "Do you want some ale? I need a drink."

"I see your thirst has not diminished," Snow said. The huntsman's lips pressed together, but did not form a smile.

"Yes," she added, "I want a drink".

"Aye".

He handed her a wooden cup. She was surprised that he had made no comment about her having alcohol. Snow had never before accepted such an offer from him.

"The handy thing about livin' in a castle is that there is an endless supply of ale. And its damned good too".

She nodded and took a long gulp. He was right, it did taste good.

"Hey, slow down there. No one wants a drunk for a queen."

She looked up from her cup and gave him sharp look. "Aye, but if I was man, you would not say such a thing."

"Does that bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"That you are not a man," he said incisively, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know how to answer that," she responded, with a slight edge to her voice.

"You think that they treat you differently, because you are not a man."

"They treat me like a queen. I suppose you could say that I am… perfect in their eyes."

"Aye, but you fear that they don't trust your judgement, your reason, and your strength."

She didn't know how to answer him, so she took another sip from her cup. Snow felt emboldened by the drink.

"Listen, Snow," he implored, leaning closer to her, "do not doubt yourself. Remember that you are the one that saved them. Your will, your power saved them; they owe you for their lives."

"But don't you see?" She rose from her seat on the bed. "Now that we have won, I am back in the tower of my youth. I am not locked away, but I am trapped just the same."

"Don't be a fool," he replied sharply. The huntsman followed her over to the window where she looked out at the castle grounds. He stood beside her, their arms barely brushing.

She turned towards the huntsman, so that she was facing him when she spoke.

"Look at me," she said. "This finery I wear, the jewels I am lavished with… it is not who I am. Maybe it could have been… before Ravenna. But the past has changed me. My title gives me power, but I fear it has come with a price. I am a bloody doll."

He paused before answering. Snow thought he would perhaps admonish her for swearing.

He ran a hand through his hair, pausing over his answer.

When the huntsman did respond, he looked frustrated, even angry. His hand was pressed into the wall and the flats of his fingers had whitened from the strain.

"Take it off then. Take it all off. Refuse it. Do not let them dictate who you are or who you want to be. Remember, Snow… your word is law."

"If my word is law, then why has the council gone against my wishes?"

"Aye?"

She sighed, and said, "nothing is definite, but some members of the council believe that for diplomatic reasons, in addition to the pleasure it would give the people, that I should take a mate. They want a King."

His eyes widened in alarm. She felt suddenly tense beside him, so she moved closer to the window and looked again at the darkened sky.

In a low voice, he muttered, "they dare offend you… they dare threaten the Crown…"

"And yet it's not even that which concerns me!" she said loudly, again manoeuvring her body closer to the huntsman. "It's that… I want more, you see."

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, seemingly confused.

"You mistake me," Snow said quickly. "I do not want more riches or more power. In fact, I would happily give this all up tomorrow. I fought for my family's honour, and for the goodness of the people and the land. But being queen… it does not touch my heart."

"What do you want then, if it is not to be found here?"

He watched from his position by the window as she paced across the room.

"I want more… adventure. I want to help people, but not from behind the walls of the castle. And I want to feel passion, above all else."

At these words, he moved towards her, and reached out so that his hands rested gently on her shoulders. Their eyes met and she felt overwhelmed by his nearness.

"Those things will come to you, but you have to be patient. Remember, you are still so young."

She knocked his hands from her shoulders, and edged away from him in anger.

"I am not a child, Eric. I understand my duty, it is everything to me. But I thought that you, more than anyone else would understand this desire… this need that cannot be quenched by council meetings, dresses, balls, and god… courting."

"She is queen and yet it is not enough."

"You are right… perhaps I do speak as a fool."

He did not comfort her but instead moved to the cabinet to pour a second drink for them both.

"I should leave," she said suddenly, glancing at the main door. "But before I do I need to tell you the real reason I came to see you. You are to be knighted in a week's time."

"I am honoured," he said. "But I cannot accept."

"And why not?" She asked brusquely.

"I won't be here. I take leave in two days."

The huntsman returned to her and offered her the refreshed cup of ale. She did not take it.

"You do not speak to me for a fortnight and now you confess that you are leaving? And what, were you going to slip into the night, like a common thief, without even saying goodbye?"

"Yes."

She captured the cup from his hands and launched its contents in his face.

"Goddamnit! What say you?" He wiped the ale from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and moved away from her, again towards the cabinet.

With his back turned to her, he stammered, "You… are right, you should go. People will begin to chatter if you stay much longer."

Snow disregarded the command to leave the room; instead, she moved closer to where he stood.

"Tell me truly, do you not care for me? Will it not pain you to say goodbye? Are we not friends anymore? After everything that we have undergone together, this does not seem like a charitable end."

She approached him by the cabinet. Swallowing, she took a breath and laid her hand on his forearm. He flinched at her touch, as if her warmth had burnt him.

"You don't understand…" He faltered a moment and then added, "it is not that I don't care. But I have lost too much and seen too much and hurt too many people, to be part of your world. I am no lord... Perhaps not even a knight. Besides, what would I do here? I would get restless."

"But good ale is worth something, is it not?"

He smiled.

"Yes, good ale is worth everything. In fact, I am in love with good ale."

"Eric…"

She moved her hand up his arm, in what felt to her to be an achingly slow pace. But she wanted to impress upon him the importance of this moment. She parted his coat and slipped her hand inside, resting it finally upon his chest.

"Don't tempt me," he breathed. The huntsman peered at her hand and regarded it as if it was some sort of foreign thing.

"Tell me the truth. What is this all about?" She asked.

"I am in love with you." The force of his gaze faltered. He smiled sadly.

"Aye, and so you leave me?"

"Yes."

Snow roughly removed her hand from his body, seized the jug of ale from the cabinet and tossed it at the adjacent wall. It clattered to the floor unceremoniously, but the ceramic remained intact.

"You madden me, woman. That was good ale!"

"I madden you? You are a complete contradiction. You are kind but cruel, deeply open and trustworthy, but dark and unfamiliar too. And that look… yes that one, you save that look just for me. But when I return it, it goes away."

He stared at her openly now, and she reddened as his gaze drifted from her eyes down to her body. He took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to no less than a foot. She could plainly tell now that he wanted her. And yet he remained still, his gaze arresting.

"Your kiss woke me from the spell," Snow revealed suddenly. "Do not lie. Please, I need to know."

Rather than displaying discomfort or hesitation, the huntsman appeared calm, almost pleased to be able to tell her the truth.

"I do not know about magic. But yes, I kissed you. And afterwards… I suppose you awoke."

"So we are destined."

"Don't say that," he pleaded.

"And why not? My heart says it's so. Why have we shied from each other since coronation? It is because of the weight of this knowledge."

When he did not respond, she reached out for his hand. He let her hold it but did not affect pleasure.

She implored him, "Can you not feel this… this thread running between us, connecting us? Does this not feel right?"

She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his open palm.

"Yes," he breathed, "God, yes. You are the first thing I think about when I wake up. And the last thing when I go to sleep. You haunt me, Snow."

And with that he released his hand from her and wrapped his arms around her waist, gathering her tightly against him. In succession, she lifted her lips to his and he plunged forward, submerging them both in a heated kiss. She felt undone by him. One kiss and she was ravished, seduced, panting for more. His mouth moved slowly, edging its way down her neck, his tongue sweeping along her collar bone, the swell of her breasts. She moaned and then laughed sharply, startled by the sound of her desire.

He remained composed, his focus directed at her body. When he had kissed all of her visible skin, he placed his hands on her cheeks, and held her face close his.

"I want you… now… in my bed," he said.

She nodded, acquiescing, following him to his bed. No words were available to express her hunger for him.

She turned her back to him and without instructions he began to undo the laces to her gown. She heard him murmur in frustration and when more than a few painful minutes had passed, he swore and released his hands in defeat.

"Turn," he summoned in an even voice. He roughly hooked his hands behind her waist, holding her still, and retrieving his knife from its holder, he began to cut through the material. When he had cut three inches down from the top of her bodice, he put his knife back in its sheath and used both of his hands to rip open the rest of the dress. The golden material and corset fell from her body and puddled on the ground at her feet. She stood before him, naked except for a white shift.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim rights to "Snow White and the Huntsman".

A/N: Dear all, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I realize that the end of the last chapter was a bit unfair. The good news is that I have decided to extend this story by another chapter or two. The bad news is that this chapter also ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger.

Also, I would really appreciate reviews! Only now do I understand how nice they are to receive!

_The Subtlety of Good Ale_

For a brief moment, the huntsman did not speak, overwhelmed by her near-naked form. She smiled, but not serenely, perhaps pleased for the first time to have her beauty on display. This moment of reflection on his part was eclipsed by Snow, who surprised him by hurtling forward. With ease, she began to remove his goatskin jacket; she was a bit more timid with his breeches, but those too she helped him take off.

He laughed kindly and said, "Not so innocent now, are we?"

She did not respond but rather pressed herself against the length of his body, vining her legs around his lower torso. The huntsman responded swiftly; cupping her bottom tightly, he carried her over to the bed and gently laid her down. Her dark hair pooled around her head like a scorched halo and he watched her, silenced once more by an inextinguishable aura.

"I must to tell you a story," he said abruptly.

The emotions on her faced stalled; she tried to understand the context of his words. Snow tucked in her elbows and raised herself into an upward position.

"I did not take you for a storyteller," she said curtly; she could not conceal her unease.

"Aye, you are right. I have no gift for tales but this story presses on my mind." He trailed his hand along the hem of her shift.

Snow promptly realized that he was reluctant to touch her unclothed body. She decided that his desire to tell a story had arisen from some fount of reserve.

"Is this story about marriage?" she asked, now determined to speak openly about his doubts.

She added quickly, "I mean… is the tale about the relations between a wife and husband on the eve of their marriage?"

The huntsman smiled and answered freely, "The 'birds and the bees', you mean?"

Snow's brow crumpled in confusion and he saved her by saying, "never mind the 'birds and the bees'. All I meant to ask was if you knew about these kinds of marital relations. I do not mean to offend, god knows you are vastly cleverer than me, but what could you have learned about… lovemaking, locked up in a tower for most of your youth?"

She hesitated in her response and instead retrieved a grey woolen blanket from the corner of the bed. She wrapped the cloth around her shoulders and leaned against the bordering stone wall. The huntsman kept his hand on her exposed thigh, but made no move to warm her.

"I know some things," she conceded. "You are wrong about the tower. Perhaps I learned too much there. For many years, I watched as young women were imprisoned in cells like mine. Ravenna's guards and Finn, that is… you know, the queen's brother… they were not kind to these women. I did not witness these women's afflictions, but I heard the effects. Sometimes a woman would explain her hurt to me. Eric, I can tell that you are plainly upset. But know that I was never touched… not really."

She chose not to elaborate on Finn's sexual advances or the episode before her escape from the tower. She did not want to burden the huntsman with the past. She realized too that she had still not reconciled herself to Finn's depraved desire.

The huntsman placed his head in his hands, overcome by the truth of her words.

"That is no education. That is… that is violence," he said. Yet he did not apologize for this violence; he knew that no words could mend this kind of hate.

Snow sat in silence, relieved but unsure how to proceed.

The huntsman then claimed another woolen blanket and placed it atop of his and Snow's laps. He took her hand in his and she caught her breath, surprised by the force of a simple touch.

"Now tell me your story," she said gently.

"Aye? Perhaps another time."

"Come on… Eric," she demanded. "You cannot withhold a tale. You have made me curious."

"Does the queen demand it?"

"Aye, she does."

He hesitated and then answered, "I'm worried it shall displease you."

"Has that stopped you before?"

He laughed and responded, "You are right, of course. I like to see you vexed."

"Oh, and why's that?"

He leaned down and drew his mouth close her ear, placing his arm across her chest and his hand on her shoulder.

She caught her breath and tried to turn her face towards his, to entrap him in kiss, but he stilled her with his hands, saying, "now, now, a queen must have patience."

Snow's face burned and she was about to rebuke him for his provocations when he whispered hoarsely, "sometimes I take pleasure in agitating you, because I want to see your flushed face… yes this one. It satisfies me to see your competitive spirit and to hear the products of your quick wit. Sometimes, I imagine…"

He then kissed her on her neck and his hot breath caressed her chilled body. The effects of his touch were evident: she felt a deep ache inside and wondered idly how her desire could be assuaged.

"What is it that you imagine?" She responded after a moment's pause, her own thoughts clouded by her need for the huntsman.

"I become absorbed in the thought that perhaps your naked body flushes when you are vexed. And I imagine taking you when we are both…"

"… maddened?" She supplied.

"Aye."

This affirmation of desire acted as a catalyst; the huntsman latched his hands around Snow's waist and in a successive motion, he drew her onto his lap, with her bent knees positioned on either side of his body. She straddled him and rested her hand atop of his shoulders; her face mere inches from his own. Her bottom pressed against the huntsman's naked form and she could feel the hard traces of his ardor. He ran his hands against her inner thighs, roughly bunching the material of her shift against her torso. He stared for a moment at her exposed sex and then shook his head and trailed his hands from her thighs to her breasts. His fingers deftly skimmed over her hardened nipples. Dipping his head forward, he forcibly drew her chest to his mouth and through the thin material of her shift she could feel the moisture of his breath upon her skin. Leisurely, he returned his left hand to the apex of her upper thighs, and with a purposeful glance, he began to stroke her sex.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was overwhelmed by the feel of his hands and mouth, coupled with the intensity of his predatory stare. Snow then realized that this was something that he excelled at… perhaps comparable to hunting, or combat. Physical contact came naturally to him. She was not startled to learn that their quarrels aroused him. It made sense.

As the pace of the huntsman's fingers quickened and her arousal mounted, she began to angle her body against his hand. As he watched her stir and writhe astride him, he took pleasure in her display of power; he found that he quite enjoyed the vision of her above him.

Snow could barely breathe; she placed one hand on his shoulder as an anchor. As the tension in her groin intensified, she petitioned for some kind of release. She pressed herself against his upper torso; the forward motion of her body, united with the huntsman's mouth on her neck, her cheeks, and her chest, enacted the desired effect. Snow only now opened her eyes; she had forgotten she had closed them. Crying out, she watched the huntsman break into a smile at the sound of her release. He captured her in his arms and she settled against his chest. Resting, she realized that this was their first embrace. He had never held her before.

"That was faster than I had expected," he said. She could tell that he was trying to withhold laughter.

"Did I do something wrong?" She tried to suppress the doubt in her voice.

The huntsman seized her forward so that their eyes were level; he looked startled by her question.

"God no… no of course not." He ran his hand across her brow. "I just meant that I am pleased that you were so affected by my touch. It was… well, it was too much, really; I almost let go, myself. Believe me, I died a thousand deaths watching you… like that."

Snow nodded, relieved that she had not somehow made a fool of herself. She kissed him and he enfolded her into his arms.

"You know," she said, "I now understand what this means."

"Aye? Cuz' I have no bloody clue, myself." He cradled her head and stroked her hair.

She paused a moment and considered how to frame her answer. She wanted to tell him that she had never kissed a man before him and that before him she had never dreamed of sex, had never wanted to. Before she had met him, sex had meant violence and death. Sex was not even redeemed in married life. She remembered the myths about Ravenna; the worst tale had been that her own father had died beneath her naked form. Ravenna had killed him while he was still inside her. For so many years, this had proved to her that even the most intimate kind of love could still contain a sort of evil. No… She did not know how to tell Eric these concerns. Or how to tell him that she now understood what sex could mean. That it could mean everything, really.

More than that she wanted to tell him that she was not afraid of the consequences of their love; she itched to say that she did not care what the council said about their union.

Yet instead of exposing these truths, she answered, "I love you. And I want to be with you tonight."

"Are we not together now?"

When she did not respond he added, "perhaps it's time for that tale."

"You are afraid of the council," she leveraged, dismissing his diplomatic effort.

He stiffened but did not release her from his arms. "Aye, perhaps you are right. But I am not afraid of what the council can do to me. I can handle their threats. Or worse. But I cannot abide the idea of these… men… harming you. I fear that being with you, in the manner you desire, will only serve against you."

"Be honest. Do you fear the consequences of being with me openly? Or do you only fear the consequences of taking my maidenhead? Remember that I am more than a body."

"It would serve the council to remember that last bit," the huntsman responded heatedly. He raised her chin so that she could see his anger. He added, "I have seen the way society treats women… or perhaps the council renames this abuse 'tradition'. I have heard men use that word many times before. Often to justify death".

She was sure his words referred to some particularity; she could not mistake the scorn in his voice.

At last he said, "I want to share a story. But, please… do not mistake its subtext."

Snow wanted to ask what this meant but hesitated, afraid to derail his momentum.

He persisted in his tale: "I had a friend… her name was Anna. We were close when I was fifteen. Her father was the local butcher and I used to sell meat to him. Just scraps, not good stuff. But he was okay, because he let me talk with Anna. I don't remember how we became friends. It is not easy for me to get close to others. But she was special. I can't remember much about her, but I do remember that she was brave. She wanted to be a soldier like me. Would have too, if she had been a man."

He paused and Snow waited, fixated on the sparse details of his past.

"There is not much else to say. Anna confided in me. She told me that she had met an older man, some merchant. He was not staying long in town, but had promised her that he would make an offer. She told me he said was in love with her. I promised to keep her secret but was afraid of what would happen if her father found out. Or if the community knew that she had been intimate with him."

"Did she tell you that she had slept with the merchant?" Snow asked.

"Aye, she had to. She was with child and was scared. The merchant was a real pisser. A drunk too. He did not make that offer and when her father learned the news of her pregnancy, he disowned her. Just like that. And the community did not entreat to help her."

"What happened to her? Did she stay with you?"

He shook his head and in a low voice answered, "My own mum was opposed to the idea. Perhaps scared of what the other women would think. Could not change her mind. That summer I went to the war; never saw Anna again. Came back two years later and she had left. Or was dead. Her Pa couldn't say."

She did not know how to respond to the end of his tale. There was too much sadness in it.

He relieved her discomfort by saying, "listen… I did not want to share this tale, in part because it is not my intention to demonize sex. God knows sex can be glorious… perfect… transcendent, even. And in this immediate moment, actually… in every moment I share with you, there is nothing I would rather do. Perhaps hold you. This is quite nice. Haven't held a woman in a long time."

She smiled broadly, amused by his display of affection. It was unlike him to be so open.

He continued. "But I chose to share the story, if only so you would understand the reasons that I hesitate over these matters."

"I am not Anna," she whispered.

"No. You are in a far more precarious situation. You are the queen. Your body matters to the entire world, and not just to some backwater community. If the council discovers that we are intimate and unwed, the repercussions will be great."

She did not miss a beat. Snow responded earnestly, "then we should marry."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim rights to "Snow White and the Huntsman".

A/N: Dear all, for those who have been waiting for this chapter, I apologize for the delay. There is more to come. I hope you enjoy.

_The Subtlety of Good Ale_

Her words entered the void.

As she uttered the proposal, she knew that she was tumbling recklessly in unknown territory. Snow's instincts told her that the huntsman would refuse the union. She understood that the threshold from love to marriage was not easily traversed, yet she could not mentally arrive at an alternative end for them.

The equation seemed absurd, but simple: love is sanctioned by marriage. And yet, only moments before, she had rebuked such an equation. When the council had advised her to choose a mate, she had balked at the idea. Snow was sure Eric would invoke this information; he would want to prove that her desire was inconsistent.

Sure enough, he responded to her request. She retained her grip around his body, and he made no move displace her from his lap. Yet Snow could sense how uncomfortable he had become under her weight. He seemed to shrink from her touch; her kiss on his taut shoulder only elicited a slight groan of frustration.

Clearing his throat, the huntsman said, "I do not pretend that your request does not affect me. Of course, I am honoured."

He paused here to look down at her and touch her cheek, which was pressed tightly against his warm chest. He encircled her waist with his other arm and tenderly lowered his face to hers. Before quietly kissing her, his lips barely there, he addressed her with a smile. But the smile did not reach his eyes.

Snow felt as if his soul was a small animal: she could not capture it, but she felt a desperate need to protect it from harm. Exposed to the elements of nature, the small animal might retreat into the shade of the forest. Or perhaps the animal would simply disappear into darkness, as if it had never existed.

She did not want to experience this loss; what would it feel like to be divested of this kind of love?

Surer now of the huntsman's answer, Snow snaked out of his embrace, crawled across the bed and planted her feet on the cold floor. The huntsman did not resist her efforts to leave.

She swiftly moved to retrieve her wrecked corset from the ground. The huntsman watched in silence as she inspected the dress; it was clear that the material could not be salvaged. She would have to clothe herself in a borrowed cloak.

Snow chanced a look at him. The huntsman's nostrils flared and his cheeks flushed in irritation. But he remained still, his beauty statuesque, the white sheet barely covering his naked form.

Yet his voice betrayed his humanity.

"You have made me three offers tonight. And I have denied them all. Never has a queen been so poorly received. I should be banished. Executed, perhaps."

His words were absurd, humorous. Yet he sounded completely serious too. Snow wanted to respond with wit, yet she could only muster anger.

"And pray tell, what were these three offers?"

"Knighthood, sex and the Crown." He was not mocking her but there was no kindness in his voice. It was as if the burden of her love had stripped him of kindness.

"These three offers are not unconnected: all of them reflect our love. By refusing them, you have clearly made a choice. You do not want me, then?"

The huntsman's abrupt, barrelled laughter unsettled her. Gripping the sheet that covered his lower torso, he tossed it aside and ambled off the bed towards her. He dropped to his knees and rested his head against her pelvis; his hands bore into her lower back. Through her shift, she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin.

The huntsman gazed up at her with a manic look in his eyes. In a strangled voice, muffled by the angle of his head, he said, "I am sorry… God, am I sorry. Snow, I want you. All of you. But you must understand… I am not worthy of the Crown. My blood is impure."

Before she could provide a rebuttal, he added, "the council would raise hell if we married. If we married privately, I would be killed, and it would be as if our union had never existed. If we married publicly… well, who would permit it?"

"The people."

The huntsman looked confused. But instead of asking her to clarify her statement, he eased his way up her torso. Nearly upright, he snaked his hand around her ankle, and following the hard line of her leg, dragged his hand across her skin in an ascending motion. As he rose to his full height, he caressed the crease between her thigh and bum; his fingers dancing ever closer to her sex. Snow moved her legs apart and leaned into his hard chest, already anticipating his touch.

As he slid two fingers inside her, he asked, "tell me, who are these brave souls? Or what you have decided to call, 'the people.' I am not aware that I have supporters across this land."

Snow opened her mouth to answer, but was silenced once more by a kiss. The huntsman's tongue lapped against her lips, demanding entrance; at the same time, his deft fingers flicked, stroked and caressed the contours of her sex.

Desire flooded her consciousness, preventing her from carrying on their discourse. She felt frustrated at her lack of control. As she tried once more to speak, to scold him for this unsolicited distraction, she could only moan, "please… please Eric. _Yes_. _Yes_."

These words elicited a feral growl from the huntsman. He dropped to his knees and detached his hand from her sex. In a successive movement, he pulled Snow down with him onto the floor, so that she was sprawled before him, with her legs casually opened. He pressed his knees into the back of her thighs, spreading her legs further apart. Propped up by her arms, Snow now watched with interest as the huntsman leaned towards her; his face hovered above her breasts. Her arms buckled and her head dropped to the floor as his mouth latched onto her hardened nipples. Snow moaned as the friction of his teeth on the coarse material of her shift created a pleasurable heat. Snow's breath hitched in her throat as his hands slid over her breasts and his mouth trailed south, across her ribs, her belly, her thighs.

The huntsman's breath caressed her core. Snow felt delirious, overcome by the sensation of his mouth on her skin. Parting her sex with his mouth, his tongue hungrily swept across her wet folds, in search of the secret, nectarous spot that would excite her release.

He roughly squeezed her bum with his hands, and drew her closer so that his mouth butted against her sex. Snow arched her back and suspended her leg across his shoulder. The huntsman increased the speed of his strokes, his tongue now moving in rapid, swirling motions across her sex. Snow's toes curled in anticipation; she began to cross the threshold of her climax. The huntsman, sensing her condition, hurriedly inserted two fingers inside her; coupled with the feverish caress of his mouth, the movement of his fingers, in and out, served to push her over the edge. As Snow's body quivered, flooded by sensation, he simply held her closer, his mouth still lovingly fastened onto her sex. He drank her in, sucking, biting, licking, delivering her to the summit of satisfaction.

Snow sang his name and brushed her hands across his forearms. No longer shaking, she beckoned him to her. Like an animal after the kill, the huntsman predatorily roamed her body. As he snaked across her upper torso, away from her sex, she could feel his cock pressed against her inner thigh. Yet the excitement it elicited was brief; he had suddenly dislodged himself from her body, moving into an upright position. At his full height, he towered over her. Snow did not move from her spot on the cold floor. She lay still, paralyzed by the sudden loss of contact.

As the huntsman moved to the chair near the bed to retrieve his breeches, he said with his backed turn to her, "I am sorry. What we did there… that was unfair of me."

He cleared his throat, pained by his next words. "You see, I had to taste you. And now that I have, I do not want to stop."

Snow sat up, her paralysis relieved by his honesty. In a restrained voice, she beseeched, "then don't stop. Come back to me. Lie with me."

The huntsman shook his head, yet continued to face the wall. He answered, "I cannot. Do not make this harder for me."

At his stubbornness, Snow rose from her spot on the floor, and stretched out her arm to touch him on his back. He did not flinch.

Troubled by his diffidence towards the situation, she proclaimed, "this is absurd! You cut me off before with your kiss, but listen now. You are a man of the people – a brother, a son… a husband of the people. Across the land, there are already tales of your bravery. People know the name of Eric, the honourable huntsman. You must see that the land will rejoice when the queen marries a common man."

The huntsman turned towards her. She had never seen him look so conflicted, so lost in this world.

"Bravery does not make a man worthy of the Crown."

"Aye? Pray tell, what constitutes a king, then?"

"Blood."

Snow shook her head. "You are wrong, Eric. A king must be good and honourable. He must love his land and be fair and kind to his people. Blood be damned."

The huntsman took a step towards her, prepared to protest more vociferously, when a loud noise flooded the room. Snow could hear the sound of men's shouts and footsteps in the corridor.

Her eyes darted to her dishevelled clothes on the floor, to the unkempt bed, and to the huntsman's near-naked form. The huntsman was already in motion; he hurriedly draped a cloak across her shoulders and collected her dress and corset from the floor. He then ushered her into the bathing room and closed the door.

In a hushed voice, he said, "Do not leave this room. Do not move or make a noise. When it is safe outside, I will come to get you."

"What will you tell the guards?" Snow asked.

He tightened the cord on her cloak and ran his hands across her shoulders. His face was mere inches from hers.

"If they ask after you, I will say that you left my chamber almost an hour ago."

His words were eclipsed by a loud knock on the door. Snow froze. She was suddenly seized by an awful notion: what if they were caught?

The look on the huntsman's face told Snow that he shared her concern. Promptly, he kissed her brow and turned towards the main room.

With the door now closed, Snow was bathed in darkness. She could do nothing but wait for the huntsman's return.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim rights to "Snow White and the Huntsman".

A/N: If you feel inclined, please review. I really appreciate feedback. Also, I needed to demarcate two sections in the chapter, but could not figure out how to do this. Consequently, the formatting is a bit wonky. Thanks for reading!

_The Subtlety of Good Ale_

Prudently, Snow stood in silence, anticipating the huntsman's re-entrance. At once aware that she must not be discovered, she could not entirely quell an uncanny feeling: she preferred it when she and the huntsman were on the same team, at odds with the rest of the world. The rushed beat of her heart, relentlessly pounding against her chest, was not an unfamiliar feeling.

Months ago, when she and the huntsman had been on their quest, such a feeling had plagued her. During that time, she had felt unhinged by the exhilaration of their adventure; only the huntsman's calm, uncouth, brick-like presence had acted as a respite against the sure promise of death. Now, locked in the huntsman's bathing room, she felt the same camaraderie that she had once felt back then. It felt good to be on a team again.

Yet she feared that this desire for closeness could only be achieved through transgressive acts. Was this the price of being the queen?

Snow barely had time to process this question when the huntsman rushed into the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

He looked concerned, but not defeated by the circumstances.

Hurriedly, he motioned her towards the door, and calmly explained, "Gavin is our untimely visitor. He is a queen's guard – perhaps you have seen him before. He has come to alert us of an investigation into your whereabouts, led by Lord Borthwick's men. You must leave with Gavin."

Snow could scarcely glean the hooded figure standing in the archway of the opened door.

She quietly asked, "How do you know Gavin? And why would Lord Borthwick be on the lookout for me? He is barely acquainted to the council… surely Gavin must be mistaken."

The huntsman paused before answering, "Gavin and I go way back. From the same town, we are; enlisted in the army together. He owes me one. But Lord Borthwick, that's a fellow I cannot speak to. I have heard rumours though…"

"What kind of rumours?" Snow hastily responded, already alarmed by his apparent distrust of the councilman.

"Dark ones. You must know him better than I do. Being on the council and all that. But the rumour goes that when Duke Hammond escaped Ravenna, Borthwick was in no rush to follow him. He had no interest in disposing Ravenna from the throne. She supposedly paid him off. But when the tide turned, and the rightful heir arose from the ashes…"

Here the huntsman smiled at her, continuing, "Borthwick then re-appeared on the scene, contrite and full of shite. He said that the queen had brainwashed him with her magic. That he was loyal to King Magnus and his daughter. God knows why he's following you tonight."

Immediately overwhelmed by this information, Snow lowered her head in thought. The news about Borthwick percolated in her mind.

"And how did you come across this information about Borthwick?" She finally inquired.

"Aye, good question. Gavin, come in here, mate."

The cloaked man eased into the room, his gait unhurried and relaxed. Gavin did not remove his hood, and from Snow's position, she could only apprehend his tall build and his dark beard, which was thickly spread across his severe jaw.

Gavin said, "No time for chitchat, I'm afraid. Borthwick's men will be here in moments, your Highness."

Gavin's no nonsense pragmatism had its desire effects. While Snow wanted nothing more than to continue their conversation about Borthwick, the huntsman had other ideas. He easily manoeuvred Snow to the doorway, following Gavin, who had already retreated into the dark corridor.

She wondered what Gavin must think about the present situation: did he now distrust her as the chosen leader of Tabor or did he think that she was honest and brave for choosing the huntsman as her lover?

The huntsman disrupted her ruminations with an impassioned, yet distracted kiss. His mouth heatedly glided across her lips, in an act of lustful remembrance. Fearful that this might be their last kiss, she felt as if his lips were imprinting hers. Yet this moment together did not – could not – last.

He removed his hand from her back and with a knowing look, watched as she turned away, under the archway and into the dark corridor.

Snow did not say goodbye or seek out some kind of promise from him. Their earlier conversation had not progressed towards a resolution, and given the rushed situation, she realized that it would be fruitless to try again.

Besides, she thought, he was intractable about this matter of blood. She felt no pleasure in the thought of convincing him that he was worthy of the Crown. She would have to allow him to arrive at his own conclusions about their relationship.

As she stepped into the corridor, the huntsman closed the door behind her. She could not immediately see Gavin in the darkness.

"Over here. Follow me, Your Highness." A bright light suddenly erupted. Gavin lit a torch and was now metres ahead of her. Snow hurried behind him, lost in her thoughts. She knew the way back to her chamber, but wondered whether Gavin would take the same route, which was likely riddled with observant attendants.

Sharing her concerns, he said, "This path I'm taking is longer than usual, but is rarely frequented by servants. Only guards go this way, and I suspect we won't have much trouble there. Borthwick's men are mostly located on the South side of the castle. But be sure to keep your cloak tight around your face."

Snow followed his instructions, deeply aware of the necessity of anonymity.

She struggled to curtail her curiosity, as she wanted to ask Gavin more questions about Borthwick and his ties to the huntsman. She attempted to distract herself with the unfamiliar landscape of the castle; she realized that knowledge of this pathway could prove useful in the future.

Time quickly passed as they traversed the curved and stoned route to her chamber; still, they did not encounter a familiar face. Sooner than she expected, they rounded a corner which she knew led to the 'Queen's Quarters.'

Gavin stopped here. No longer in a rush, he resumed the casual ambivalence he had earlier displayed in the huntsman's chamber. Snow could see him more clearly now; his face looked younger than she had expected. He had alert, dark eyes and a serious smile.

As she prepared to thank him for his kindness, he intervened, saying, "This is where we part. And remember, Your Highness, as long as rivers flow in Tabor, you have a loyal servant in me. You see, I am no fool. The people of Tabor owe you."

His words evoked the huntsman's earlier observation: _they owe you for their lives…_

Snow stretched out her hand to thank him. Gavin made a move to kneel before her, but she intervened and surprised him with a brisk handshake. He smiled at her forwardness and without another word, left her in the corridor.

Suddenly exhausted, Snow hurried to her chamber. Two guards resolutely stood before the door to her room; they watched in apparent disinterest as she approached them. Without a word, one of the guards stepped aside and eased the heavy doors open. Snow nodded, appreciative of their discretion.

Though her absence had apparently awakened the interest of Borthwick and his men, her own guards revealed no outward curiosity toward her whereabouts. Yet Snow was not so naïve. She knew that her safety was one of the central priorities of the castle; no doubt, every guard and servant was informed of her visit to the huntsman's chamber.

Secluded in her room, Snow set to discard her borrowed cloak and crumpled shift. She blushed at the thought of her destroyed dress, now the property of the huntsman; she wondered what he would do with the remains of her clothes. Probably burn them.

A door on the far side of the room creaked open and Snow welcomed Mary, her servant, with a small wave. Mary, young and newly employed at the castle, blushed as she entered the room. With ease, she attended the fire and collected Snow's clothes.

"Shall I draw a bath for you, my queen?" Mary squeaked, shooting her quick glance at Snow.

"No. I only desire sleep. Thank you, though."

Snow had not readjusted to the life of nobility. She felt uncomfortable under the constant gaze of others; especially when that gaze traversed the boundaries of public and private spaces.

Snow briefly wondered if she should confide in Mary about her visit to the huntsman. She was uncertain about the protocols of their relationship. Was she supposed to preserve a semblance of distance between her and Mary? Or was it acceptable to treat her servant as a friend?

Snow typically loathed relationships based on rank, but since coronation, she had felt pressured to uphold tradition. She decided that she would act as naturally as possible. Who could fault her for that?

"Goodnight, Mary. Sleep well," Snow said, as she slid into her warm bed. She barely heard the girl's cheery reply, as the pull of sleep overtook her. Snow embraced the deadened state, exhausted by the events of the evening. Tomorrow, she hoped, would bring clarity.

HHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Snow awoke with an unmistakable feeling of dread. She detangled herself from her sheets and focussed her stare on the vast fields beyond the castle, visible through an adjacent window. She could not exactly locate the cause of her unease. That is to say, she could not trace her anxiety back to the events of last night; neither the huntsman nor Lord Borthwick had particularly upset her.

Yet, she sensed that her troubles were implicitly related to her relationships with men. Snow felt as though she were a sun, endlessly circled by an orbit of men. At that moment, she desperately wished that her mother was alive, not only to provide guidance, but to protect her.

As Snow prepared to retrieve clothes from a colossal, wooden wardrobe, Mary entered the room.

"Your Highness," Mary breathed, "let me help you. I have returned with your breakfast. We must hurry, Sir William is here. Shall I tell him that you wish to visit with him?"

"Yes, of course. Please tell him to join me," Snow replied, lifting her arms as Mary struggled to clothe her in a modest silk gown.

Fully dressed, Snow absently watched as Mary left the chamber to receive William. Snow drifted over to the sitting area, where a large platter of expertly arranged fruit, bread, and cheese lay on a small table. She positioned herself on a comfortable oak and leather chaise beside the table.

The prospect of visiting with William did not alarm her. In fact, over course of a fortnight, the two had settled into an easy routine. Most mornings, he would join her as she ate her breakfast. She was relieved that their childhood friendship had resumed itself so quickly. With age, William had transformed into a welcomed ally and necessary confidante.

As Snow debated the merits of grapes and oranges (apples had been banned since coronation), Mary re-entered the chamber, followed by William. He hesitantly smiled as he sat across from her.

"Your Highness… shall I leave now? Or do you desire more drink and food?"

"We are perfectly satisfied. Thank you, Mary."

Mary curtsied and moved to exit the room. William watched, visibly amused by the girl's enthusiasm.

"You are pleased with your servant, I expect?" He asked, drawing a cup of tea to his mouth.

"Yes. Mary is a lovely girl."

"And… how are you? Were you happy with the council meeting?"

"Yes, I suppose it went better than expected," she answered. She was nimbly aware of an unspoken strain in the conversation. She was unsettled by William's sudden formality.

"Yes, I agree. I was relieved by the group's unanimity."

William had recently been appointed to the council in his father's stead. This was no small honour. William was deathly serious about his new responsibilities. Snow was heartened to have a friendly face on the council.

After a lull in the conversation, William purposely cleared his throat, and with an air of indifference, calmly asked, "And I expect the huntsman received the news of his forthcoming knighthood in kind?"

Snow, unbalanced by his question, paused before answering. She knew that she could answer quite simply – a yes or a no would suffice. And yet, Snow felt as if this response was somehow inadequate. She had never been a person who could easily convert truth into lies. She felt no goodness in spinning falsehoods, especially in the service of deceiving a friend. Conversely, how could she possibly share with him the events of the previous evening?

Her friendship with William was built on guileless, uncomplicated memories from childhood. She feared that an honest answer to his question would create a chasm in their friendship. How could she preserve the innocence of the past?

"Snow," William said, suspending her thoughts. "You are visibly troubled by my words. I fear that the huntsman upset you.

His genuine concern for her well-being transposed his former awkwardness. Snow hurried to assure him that she was fine.

"I should tell you that the huntsman has not accepted knighthood."

Snow thought that William might find the absurdity of this fact amusing, but was dismayed to see his kind face contorted in anger.

"He spurns the Crown! The nerve of that man… he is utterly reckless."

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, Snow provided, "funny, he said the same thing, actually. He is aware of his offense to the Crown."

"Aye. Sounds like him. Too clever for his own good."

William sought to add something to this comment, but hesitated over his next words.

His dark eyes were fixed on her face. With his palms pressed against his knees, William leaned towards Snow.

"Please forgive me if I am too forward… but there are unkind rumours circulating in the castle. It affects both you and the huntsman. They say that you spent hours alone in the huntsman's room."

Snow was numbed, not from his revelation but from his hopeful gaze. She felt as if William's speech had cornered her. It was clear that he wanted the rumours to be untrue and that it was her task to dispel his lingering doubt. The gauze of innocence that surrounded her was ripping open. Again, she felt no desire to lie to her friend.

Snow answered, "The rumours are true. Borthwick's men do not lie – or so I have heard."

With more composure, she said, "As you have likely observed, the huntsman and I have had little conversation since coronation. We had much to discuss last night."

"Aye. I noticed that your friendship with the huntsman had cooled. I thought it strange… you were so close before… well, before Ravenna's death. It surprised me that you did not seek him out after coronation. I think, perhaps, I was cheered by this."

Snow nodded, not entirely startled by his confession. She was aware of William's respect for the huntsman but, but also understood his reservations.

With more ease, he added, "Your Highness, you must understand that your dealings with the huntsman are monitored. You are correct that Borthwick watches you. Last night, one of his attendants was expressly sent to my father's quarters to alert him of your disappearance. I, myself, understood that you were in no danger. The fact alone of the huntsman's presence was enough to satisfy me. I give credit where credit is due. That man would happily die protecting you."

Snow had to suppress a sudden desire to scream. She felt trapped by this cabal of men.

Unaware of her irritation, William pressed on. "Listen. Though the huntsman can protect you from outward danger, he still presents a threat. Remember, now that you are queen, there are certain traditions that you must uphold."

In a saccharine laced voice, Snow sarcastically rebutted, "Thank you, dearest William, for reminding me of my duties. Whatever would I do without your novel advice? I suppose you would prefer me to cut all ties with the Dwarves too? Say goodbye to Beith, Muir and Coll? Piss on all those… lower beings… who helped save our arses only a month ago!"

With an exasperated sigh, William sat back in the chaise. Throwing up his arms in defeat, he said, "Of course I do not want you to 'piss' on the Dwarves, as you so neatly put it. Do not forget that I was the one who advocated the huntsman for knighthood! In spite of what you must think, I do care about the damned drunk! He is a good man. But he is no King."

His words openly broached the unsaid. Snow breathed in, prepared to confront her heart's desire.

Immediately, she sought to push William farther on the subject. "And I suppose you are a model King?"

Laughing, William answered, "Yes. I bloody well am a 'model King'. I have been raised to assume this role. You know that. But I suppose, that is not really the issue at hand."

Snow noticed a softer emotion overtake his hard features. Nervously, he raked his hand through his dishevelled hair. With a deep breath, he said, "If you really do not want me, then I will do everything in my power to enable your happiness. But… you must understand that I stand alone on this issue. The others will not follow me. Don't you see? The council will never allow this marriage. My fear is that if you pursue this relationship, you will be hurt."

"He said the same thing; perhaps you are not so unalike."

More confidently, she said, "I understand your concerns, but you must remember, if I had followed your advice before – if I had done everything in my power to avoid pain and heartache – we would not be alive today! Perhaps it is time for you to trust me."

"Snow, I agree that you have confronted evil of the worst kind, but you have no comprehension of politics! In time, you will understand the inner workings of Tabor, but for now, you must accept that you are a beginner! Besides… who would accept the huntsman as King?"

"The people will accept him."

William, unlike the huntsman, did not immediately rebuke her claim. She could tell that his mind was churning with unresolved thoughts.

Finally, he answered, "Yes. I see your logic. It is not entirely absurd. The people do in fact celebrate the huntsman. Or so I have heard. Yet, Snow… do you remember the last time a monarch married a commoner?"

She shook her head.

"Ravenna," he said. "King Magnus married Ravenna, a supposed peasant, a beautiful nobody."

He did not need to add, 'and look how that unfolded'; the implication of inevitable doom was clear enough without additional commentary.

Snow was deeply affected by his observation. Yet an overwhelming feeling of anger prevailed. She felt as if he was simply trying to scare her.

Calmly, she said, "I suppose that my father's marriage sets an ill precedent. But, you must agree that this situation is quite different. We know Eric… the huntsman, I mean. We know he is good. You said it yourself."

William nodded. Like Snow, he was unable to lie to his friend.

Moved by his honesty, Snow found herself asking, "Please, William. Tell me that you will help me."

"What can I do?"

"Talk to your father. Ask his advice. Ask him how I should proceed in this matter."

"So there it is. You have alluded to your relationship with the huntsman, but I am not entirely convinced of it. I will help you, but I need to hear you say it."

"What? What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me the truth. Tell me that you are in love with him and that you entreat to marry him."

Snow sucked in, having anticipated this moment since their conversation had first begun. Yet William's words seemed to release her. She felt surprised by the boldness and force of her desire. She realized, suddenly, that she would do anything to be with the huntsman.

"Yes. I see. You are right, of course. I am sorry… I should have been clearer before," she said. "I am in love with Eric. Perhaps you have already deduced what happened a month ago… nevertheless, I shall tell you. The huntsman's kiss awakened me."

He looked at her in surprise. Snow suddenly felt the weight of her confession. She could no longer deny William's feelings for her.

Before she could try to remedy the situation, he said, "To me, you are the paradigm of womanhood. I worship you, Snow. When were separated, I used to speak to you. Did I ever tell you that?"

She shook her head.

He hesitantly added, "I know it sounds strange, but after we parted as children, I could not let you go. You were still so real to me. And then… when I learned the news of your escape, it was as if my heart had been returned to me. For the first time in my pitiful existence, I felt alive. But when I finally found you, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss. It was completely absurd! I found you alive and reasonably healthy, and yet it was not enough. Do not mistake me. You are more beautiful, intelligent and kinder than I could ever have imagined as a child. Yet… yet, I understand now that I was in love with a memory."

Snow nodded, encouraging him to continue. She was revived by his words. Somehow he had articulated her innermost feelings about him.

"And yet, I cannot sublate my desire for you. Despite these feelings of uncertainty, I had still hoped that we would marry."

"Aye. I understand. The happy ending is deeply seductive."

"Do you remember the tales our parents once told us?"

"With the joyous princesses and princes?"

"Aye."

"And yet, we should not be so glum. Remember, we still love each other. You are my dearest friend."

Snow took his hand and held it close to her lap. The two sat together in comfortable silence. Yet the moment was short lived; William sought to leave her chamber. He could not conceal his hurt.

Rising from the chaise, he said, "I will speak to my father on your behalf. I will also ask him about Borthwick… I do not trust that man."

"Thank you. Truly."

Before departing, he inquired, "Pray tell, does the huntsman want to be the King of Tabor?"

"Absolutely not. I think the idea is abhorrent to him."

William looked distraught at her words; he gripped the door and then laughed, if only to diffuse his sadness.

"This man does not deserve you."

"Aye," she said, also in laughter.

He quietly added, "But then, perhaps no man does."

Without another word, he exited the room, leaving Snow alone with her thoughts.

TBC…


End file.
